Inimicus
by Squidgal
Summary: To a yautja, revenge is a dish best served raw. As a lone hunter arrives on an unknown planet, he finds more than he bargains for.
1. Part the First

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Predator franchise, just having a bit o' fun with the characters.  
**Author's Note to the Gentle Reader:** This is a tale altogether different from the humorous pieces I have written earlier. I guess the scales have been tipped to the scifi and horror parts of my brain. Proceed with caution.

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**Inimicus**

It had no memory of its birth. Alone and unspeakably ancient, it ruled in its sleep. The world that served as its prison was its kingdom. Defeated and placed within the shackles of its throne by a forgotten foe eons ago, it watched over its domain in its black dreams, yearning for its abode in the deep void between the burning stars. Beneath the ground, it waited and slept. Covered by the immeasurable depths of time, it dreamt endlessly of the faltering orbits of decomposing worlds and the dying sighs of decaying stars.

When the usurper came, it awoke. Opening its senses to the world above it, it sent out a tendril of its essence, and it seeped into the usurper's lifeblood. When it started to feed upon his mind, a vista of cruelty, carnage, and an all-consuming rage invigorated it. It reveled in the usurper's madness, for it had longed for such things while it slept. Renewed, it urged its victim to free it from its prison, and so he did.

**The Warrior**

Ghosts, he was chasing ghosts of transmissions made long ago and he wondered if he was wasting his time. The last time his _mei'hswei_ contacted him it was from this vicinity. Would he find the one they had been looking for? On the other hand, was he following another false trail? His brother had sent him the transmission, but that had been long ago. Now only silence answered his most recent inquiries. It was probable the yautja they had been searching for was long dead and turned to dust, thus releasing them all from the burden they had shouldered these long years.

Tugrik rubbed at the mass of scar tissue on his forehead, the result of an acid baptism administered some time ago by a dying _kainde amedha_ warrior during the capture of a queen; the ultimate hunt in which he had been fortunate enough to participate. The only thing he lost on that hunt was his masked helmet. He never had it repaired. Instead, he kept it among his trophies as a reminder of what could have been. Nevertheless, from that day, he held his head high. The dull, wrinkled pink flesh was a sign to younger hunters that no one escapes unscathed from an encounter with the court of the black queen. He looked at the trophy wall. The Hunt was what he lived for and that was all he wanted. The tide of years must have passed over the grave of the one they had searched for in vain. What good would it do now? Yet more questions swarmed from his mind, blinding him with doubt. Perhaps the only question he should be asking himself was the one he was reluctant to address.

Have you fulfilled your oath? He mulled over that question as he stared at the trophies arranged on the wall. He sighed and looked at the skulls. There was a story connected with the first trophy, but it was one story he wished he could forget. The room darkened a bit as his mind tried to take him back to that night, but he shook his head to dispel the memory and quickly left the room. He would rather perish during a hunt than to remember. It was all he wanted from the Black Warrior.

At the controls, Tugrik looked over the sensor arrays on the console and checked the coordinates. He was in unknown territory, in a sector barely explored, and he needed to proceed with caution since the coordinates were not very reliable. Hunters known and unknown could have already staked the surrounding star systems' planets as their Hunting Grounds. There were no records in the computer database, but it was better to be safe. It would be criminal of Tugrik to trespass without permission.

After three days of fruitless searching among inadequate planets, Tugrik managed to find a promising one orbited by a red moon. As he approached, he sent out a message through various frequencies requesting permission to land. Believing the planet uninhabited, he did not expect anyone to answer. He was surprised and a bit disappointed when a transmission hailed him from the planet; he had hoped to be the first to hunt on an unexplored world. In response to his message, the voice of the unknown yautja granted permission and instructed Tugrik to land his ship.

The sun was setting by the time he landed at the port. As he secured the ship, he noticed that his craft was the only occupant of the spaceport. No other ships were in the vicinity. While he was preparing to exit the ship, he thought about leaving his shiftsuit with the majority of his hunting gear, but he brought it along with an old and worn mask, his _ki'cti-pa_, and a spear. He left behind the shoulder mounted plasma caster. Tugrik was looking forward to a strenuous hunt on this planet; perhaps worthy prey to test his skills and to have the plasma caster along would only make the hunt all too trivial.

**The Host**

A lone yautja stood waiting for Tugrik outside of the landing port. He was an old _eta_, silent, hunched over and leaning heavily on a wooden staff. Bowing his head in acknowledgment, he beckoned for Tugrik to follow him through the forest of black trees that curved and vaulted above their heads. They were unlike anything Tugrik had ever seen. The large trunk of each tree looked warped, melted and shaped into a more twisted form than what it had originally been before. The trees curled and separated among themselves as if they were in agony the minute they erupted from the ground. Some trees were straight as spears, but these stands were few. Their serrated blade-like leaves trembled in the slight breeze of the dying day, with the warmth of the day slowly escaping and the coolness of the night settling on the darkening forest floor. In the deepening twilight, the first stars appeared. The red moon had yet to rise.

Tugrik looked around him and heard the restless rustling of night creatures accompanying his journey along the worn woodland trail. Something large crashed in the distance, silencing the whistling mutterings of waking nocturnal life. A slight tremble in the ground, as if it were heaving with a multitude of unknown life, rocked Tugrik slightly. In the growing night beneath the mammoth black trunks of the trees, he thought he could discern a figure matching him stride for stride. Peering into the inchoate darkness, he found no one there.

The path they were traveling on slowly widened as it entered a clearing. Dominating the center of the clearing was a large hall built with the black wood from the surrounding forests. It resembled the crouching queen of the night-skinned hard meat, watching Tugrik like a dark demon at the gateway of Cetanu's realm. The blackness of its walls glistened wetly, absorbing the starlight in its inky depths. Lending an air of primal hostility, tall spires jutted from the roof like grasping claws. The great arching roof surmounted a solid base ringed by rounded protrusions pierced with small windows. Torches lit the small windows of this dark dwelling, but they glowed weakly like the campfires of an army lost in distant darkness.

A simpler dwelling stood not too far from the main hall and in this one, Tugrik could see that it was windowless and made from dull _tjau'ke_ and wood; a few _etas_ could be seen entering and exiting the building, but a couple of figures caught his eye. Near the perimeter of the compound, one yautja, likely an overseer, stood guard while another stooped beneath a heavy load of stones upon his back, pacing back and forth without stopping or lowering his burden.

Tugrik paused; curiously, the sight of the laboring _eta_ plucked at a hidden memory, and before he realized it, he was making his way towards the slave. A wrinkled hand suddenly grabbed hold of his arm. Growling in surprise, he turned and found himself staring down at the old slave escorting him. If he had been an arrogant and ill-tempered warrior, Tugrik would have struck down the servant for the slightest contact, but he did not. He was not one to waste time killing for the tiniest offense. The old one shook his head and pointed his staff towards the open doorway of the main hall where a tall figure waited. Reluctantly, he followed the elderly slave. Tugrik looked back once more and noticed the laborer had stopped his pacing and was looking at him, oblivious to the shouted curses and wicked blows of the overseer.

When they arrived at the hall's entrance, the old slave left Tugrik alone with the figure in the doorway.

"I am I'ilkoun-de. Welcome to my hunting grounds," rumbled the host as he nodded briefly.

Tugrik returned the greeting and introduced himself. Looking up at the tall yautja, he tried to take his measure. I'ilkoun-de easily towered over him by nearly a head.

The vigorous warrior who stood before Tugrik was older and nearing the end of his prime, but still formidable and confident in his stance. Harsh and glittering yellow eyes stared intently into Tugrik's own. His tusks were still light in color, not yet discolored and darkened by age. No piercings adorned the crests of his head. He wore a broad chest harness, a simple loincloth of animal hide, and a belt of black webbing; an assortment of bone-handled knives hung from it. Tied back with an unidentifiable material, I'ilkoun-de's long tresses were an oily dark gray. Black angular tattoos that looked like the curious distortions of old Yautja runes adorned his massive forehead, nearly disappearing among the dark green mottling of his light yellow skin. The runes interwove to form one uniform pattern of indecipherable intricacy. Strangely, the design obscured his Blooding scar.

"You have traveled far to hunt on my grounds, but night has fallen and you must wait till dawn," continued I'ilkoun-de.

Hesitantly looking about him, Tugrik asked, "I am not acquainted with your clan and I do not wish to intrude on any of your clan members' grounds."

Through it all, he was aware of I'ilkoun-de's intense scrutiny. He seemed particularly interested in the old mask Tugrik held in the crook of his right arm and the scarring on his forehead. However, at his words, an odd expression appeared briefly on I'ilkoun-de's face and disappeared just as quickly.

"There will be no one to protest. I alone remain the last of my clan. You may have the whole planet to hunt. First, dine with me tonight and tell me the news from the Homeworld and the stories of the hunts in which you have participated. It has been too long since I have entertained guests." A signal from I'ilkoun-de and another servant appeared, immediately gesturing for Tugrik to follow. "I will send for you when it is time. Rest now for we will have much to discuss," commanded I'ilkoun-de.


	2. Part the Second

**In the Hall of Midnight**

When Tugrik entered the hall, he was surprised at how numbingly stark it was. Compared to the other halls he remembered visiting during his travels, this hall was an immense void. There were no chronicles of warriors and their adversaries carved upon the walls in the brutal and animalistic style of his race. There were no proud trophies displayed nor were there any clan symbols and weapons. A line of torches illuminated the hall, but their flames were dim, casting deep shadows into the corners and alcoves of the hall.

The barrel vault of the ceiling was a massive construction of curved black logs with their branches intact. The vaulting was the only feature in the hall that had any semblance of decoration; the branches, left at various lengths and carved to form needle-like stalactites, seemed to reach down in various angles from the ceiling like a forest of spears waiting to impale. Shadowy and distorted reflections followed Tugrik as he walked across the floor. For a moment, he was disoriented by it all, and the odd sensation that he was falling through a glowing starless space made him ill at ease, but the feelings disappeared as he watched the _eta_ walk up to a wall and press against it with one taloned hand. He noticed the hand was missing some of its fingers. The sight of the _eta's_ mutilated hand should not have bothered him, but it did and he could not fathom why. He had seen injuries far worse and yet the hand appeared to speak of loss, loss of status, of prowess, and of power.

A cleverly hidden wall panel opened with a click to reveal a corridor lit by guttering torches. The servant turned to him and pointed to an open doorway four doors down. Tugrik stepped into the corridor, turning slightly at the sound of one of the doors softly closing beside him. Hesitating because he was curious, he was about to knock on the door in question, but stopped. Thinking it might be rude of him, especially in an unknown dwelling, he lowered his hand. Continuing on, he walked down the hall, alone with his thoughts, and when he entered his room, he absentmindedly placed his mask and spear on a low stone table next to the doorway.

Tugrik appraised his quarters. The room was bare except for a table and a sleeping platform. The walls' wooden panels were not the absolute emptiness of the main hall. The whorls and grain patterns of the natural wood gave the walls a murky, wraith-like appearance as the panels caught the flickering torchlight.

Looking through the only window, he noticed a small foundry adding its own red glow to the complex. The rhythmic breathing of its bellows was the only sound in the clearing. The smiths were busy tonight, hard at work for their master, yet there was something missing. Tugrik cocked his head, listening for another sound. He was so familiar with the throbbing hum of machinery, especially after traveling for so long aboard his ship that its absence should have made itself apparent to him earlier. However, he had failed to notice. There were no generators near the dwellings, he suddenly realized. Torches lit the dwellings within the clearing and the black wood fueled the foundry. Surely, there was a generator somewhere to power the whole compound? Then he heard it, somewhere in the distance like a great heartbeat. It was coming from below, deep beneath the clearing.

Lying down on the sleeping platform, Tugrik allowed the distant heartbeat of the underground generator to lull him to sleep where he dreamed of the past and remembered.

**The Treacherous Path of the Hollow Warrior**

His younger brother's laughing face acquired the thin scar running down the right side of his face during a sparring session with Tugrik in the _kehrite_. It had never healed properly, but it gave his brother a rakish look. His brother had called it the Badge of Ineptitude. Both of them were looking forward to their first blooding. They had been so young and eager to show their skills on their Blooding Hunt, and when they embarked upon the journey with a group of young, untested warriors, they were led by the venerable hunter, Nei'l'hsaun.

The first Hunt ended successfully for the majority of them. Nei'l'hsaun marked the successful youths with his distinctive sigil: the stylized spiral coil of a _kainde amedha_ in repose. The youths celebrated their new status, but what was to be their last night of joyful exuberance on the seeded planet ended in carnage and flames. The Bad Blood had come out of nowhere in his ship. During the howling chaos that followed, they had caught a glimpse of the killer. They saw that their assailant had the same Blooding mark they had just received from Nei'l'hsaun. Who was this Bad Blood and why had he desecrated and trampled their rite of passage? Bitter ashes and unanswerable questions now tinged their glory with the shadow of the unspeakable.

Tugrik and his brother, along with three others, had made an oath upon their spearheads as they watched their ship and the rest of their cohort burn that night. With their Leader and most of their comrades dead, they vowed to search for the murderer who had left them stranded on a hostile world. They knew that the Arbiters may catch up with the Bad Blood, and if they failed and perished in their pursuit, then it was up to Tugrik and his group to take their place. Until then, they had to contain their rage and further refine their skills, for the Path before them was arduous. There would be time enough for them on their journeys to search for their personal enemy or revel in his demise at the hands of the Arbiters.

The five newly Blooded survived their ordeal when the ship of another clan stopped on the planet to investigate their sensory readings. It was they who brought the survivors back to the Homeworld.

vVv

Tugrik's sleep was deep, populated with the sounds and scenes of distant dreams. When he awoke, it was from a memory that always slipped quietly into the landscape of his dreams. He could never escape it in his sleep.

He had a son once. When forced to raise his hand against him, Tugrik found the task painful, but necessary. Of course, he had sired numerous sons and daughters, yet the last son had been his favorite, the last one born before he left the Homeworld to wander alone in the far darkness. However, this child of his pride was also his child of sorrow and shame. The young warrior had turned into his most hated enemy: a Bad Blood. In his rage, Tugrik vowed to track his own son down along with the members of the pack he traveled with; there would be no mercy, not even for his son. His son and companions were now feral beasts, slaughtering in sheer bloodlust, and caring for neither honor nor respect.

Tugrik, his clansmen, and the Arbiters had caught up with the Bad Bloods in the end. When the Arbiters decided their fate, they all died. When it was time for Tugrik's son, he had asked his father to strike the deathblow. As the Arbiters watched Tugrik execute his own son, they praised him for his steadfast honor. The Code demanded his son's death, and his hand never wavered in the task.

However, such justice made Tugrik question his own honor and himself. His son shared his blood and a son was a reflection of the father. The only thing his son ever uttered while he was under Tugrik's _h'sai-de_ was a question that forever haunted him: "_Did you enjoy the thrill of this hunt_?" Madness colored his son's harsh words, sheer and spiteful madness.

**Masks**

Sitting up suddenly, Tugrik shook his head to remove the pain of that memory, unaware of the figure in the doorway. Looking up, he was amazed to see a female yautja gazing at him from the torch lit corridor. In polite greeting, he bowed his head. The female returned the gesture in silence. She was not a slave, Tugrik could see. Her height was impressive, but he had seen and mated with larger females on the Homeworld. The plain long fabric she casually wore over her shoulder and around her waist was black; the thin material was delicate against the sinuous outlines of her powerful musculature. Her tusks were white against the yellow ochre and dark emerald hue of her skin, and ivory bones bound her tresses into glistening blue-black locks. This female would be a prize, if the victorious male could subdue her long enough.

Tugrik stood up quickly when she walked in and began inspecting his mask and weapons on the table. She picked up his _ki'cti-pa_ and extended the blades to their full length. She stared at them, purring softly. Lovingly running her talons along the lethally sculpted edge, she returned the weapon to the table. She looked at the mask for the longest time, turning it in the light of the torch and caressing her long fingers across the worn metal surface. There were thin scars crisscrossing the back of her hands.

"Your equipment tells me of your good standing on the Homeworld," the female stated as she handed it back to Tugrik, "But there is no mark on this mask."

Her body was close and Tugrik could smell her musk; subtle and captivating, it filled the room. "It is an old hunting mask that was never marked. The other mask with the Blooding mark was destroyed when I received this," he said as he gestured at the massive scar on his forehead.

She looked down at him, her tusks playing lightly in the torchlight. Her presence was nearly overpowering. "If I had been an Arbiter, I would have accused you of being a Bad Blood, pronounced my judgment, and killed you in your sleep. However, I am not, and the lack of a Blooding mark intrigues me instead. Tell me warrior, who was your Master, the teacher who gave you your absent mark?"

Tugrik looked up at the towering female. "Nei'l'hsaun was my Leader." He breathed her musk in deeply, remembering the last time he was with a female. It had been not so long ago. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, she was standing closer. He did not move back; instead, he held his ground, basking in her body heat. Maintaining eye contact, he subtly positioned himself into a defensive stance, ready for anything, including violence.

"I know that name," she softly whispered. "The matriarchs of my line had fond memories of the old Leader. Is he still alive?"

"No, the Black Warrior sought his company long ago," said Tugrik. He could not bring himself to tell her the truth.

"As long as he died honorably in battle, I will sing his songs for him." The female paused as she glanced again at the mask on the table. Pointing to the mask, she asked, "Why did you not keep his mark? You could have burned his symbol on that mask, unless you felt you were not worthy to carry his mark." Her deep yellow eyes stared at him carefully. "You told me that the previous mask was destroyed. I do not believe you. The damage on your head would have been far more extensive, and you would not be here standing in front of me telling lies. A warrior of your standing would have had the mask repaired." Her taloned hand shot forward, grasping Tugrik's upper right arm tightly.

"You were not so quick to judge me earlier," Tugrik growled, "yet you stand here now accusing me. What is next, my execution? I would gladly go to my death if it would end…" He stopped himself from saying more to the female.

She pulled him nearer still until Tugrik could feel his mandibles brushing her chest. "You are a brave one and yet you hide behind your masks, the masks you use to hide your secret shame or an unfulfilled oath perhaps. What else were you going to tell me before you placed a mask over it again?" She leaned down close to Tugrik's forehead, her breath hot and moist against his skin. Releasing his arm abruptly, she said, "The hard meat's blood was not kind, yet you survived. I can see the ghost of the mark on your brow. I have seen it before."

Tugrik looked up, startled by her words, "Have you seen this mark before? Where did you see it?" He quickly grabbed her arm in order to restrain her as she turned away. He was fortunate the female did not turn on him. If she had, he would have paid with a ferocious mauling.

Instead, she laughed and pulled her arm away from Tugrik's hold. Edging closer, she whispered, "They all came looking and when they found the one they sought, they paid with their lives, except for one: he paid with his freedom." She turned once more and disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind the soft whisper of fabric and the slight clicking of bones as they danced within her shifting black tresses.

The female's enigmatic words stopped Tugrik from following her out. He slowly sat back down on the platform. He was still sitting with his thoughts when a servant summoned him to dine with his master.


	3. Part the Third

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Predator franchise. Just having a bit o' fun.**

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**Cruelty**

The servant led Tugrik through the main hall and into another corridor. There were no doors lining these walls. At the end, a doorway framed a small dining hall. In the center of the room, an immense plank of black wood lay upon stone pedestals. Crudely hewn from a long dead forest giant, its surface bore the deep gouges and stains of countless meals. There were only two chairs at the table.

At the head of the table, the massive form of I'ilkoun-de presided. He gestured for Tugrik to sit down at the other end. "I see that you have rested well. The nights on this world are long and it will be some time until the star of this world peers again over the horizon. I trust it was warm enough in your room to be comfortable."

"Yes, it was," replied Tugrik. He refrained from telling I'ilkoun-de about the female. He looked about him and noticed several overseers standing along one end of the dining hall. The _eta_ serving them attracted his attention. The slave had his head bowed and his eyes averted as he served I'ilkoun-de in silence. His long, matted dreadlocks were undecorated. The thick unruly strands covered the major features of his face. He walked crookedly, at times limping. His arms were horribly scarred and twisted and yet they carried the bulbs of _c'ntlip_ carefully. When the _eta_ was close enough to Tugrik, he lifted his head, revealing his ravaged face in the flickering light. It was brief, but long enough for Tugrik to see a thin scar curving down the right side of the _eta's_ face. The scar ended below the slave's eye and just above the area where his upper right tusk should be. Tugrik knew this _eta_!

Tugrik started at the sight of his brother, but quickly recovered. He did not notice I'ilkoun-de studying him.

"You disapprove?" he asked.

Tugrik was relieved to note that I'ilkoun-de misinterpreted his reaction as disapproval. "It is not my place to disapprove, but what did he do to deserve such disfigurement?" he replied.

"Thekkur is a special case. He has disobeyed and gone against my commands on more than one occasion. For punishment, I had his upper right tusk removed."

"The Black Warrior must have looked upon this one with ill will," said Tugrik as he tried to fight the conflicting emotions that were welling up within him. '_I am now in the presence of my enemy_,' he secretly thought as the cold claw of realization made its way down his spine.

"It is not Cetanu who looks upon him with ill will," countered I'ilkoun-de. "Thekkur did not learn from his first punishment. A harsh overseer terrorized the others and made it his personal task of tormenting Thekkur constantly. One night, the slaves found the overseer dead of a broken neck outside their compound. There were no witnesses, but one of my servants informed me that Thekkur had been the last one seen with the overseer. Upon this evidence, four of my overseers and I confronted Thekkur. In the process of torturing him, the _s'yuit-de_ admitted to the murder. Once again he was punished with the removal of his remaining upper tusk."

"But why not take his life or allow him to take his own life? You could have at least spared him some honor in death instead of mutilating him," said Tugrik as he stared at the bulb of _c'ntlip_ he held in his hand, crushing it slowly. The liquid slowly leaked out and flowed languidly between his fingers. He looked up in time to see I'ilkoun-de throw a wicked look at Thekkur.

I'ilkoun-de shook his head, "You do not understand. He is my special project, a symbol of failure and my experiment. You do not know the violence of Thekkur's rage. Not long after, he killed the servant who informed on him. He tried to escape then, but we managed to capture and punish him with the removal of his two lower mandibles. As you can see, no one escapes easily from my punishments, not even a former warrior. Thekkur bears testimony to that fact. The other slaves watch him carefully because he will kill without hesitating. They have begged me to kill him, to end his misery, but I do not."

"They must hate you." Tugrik could not help but look at Thekkur,standing in the corner, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

I'ilkoun-de flared his mandibles slightly as he hunched his shoulders. The musk of aggression filled the air. Hissing in violent anticipation, the overseers standing along the walls shifted uncomfortably.

Tugrik felt his own anger rise, but suppressed it. Now was not the time, especially with I'ilkoun-de's overseers nearby. He noticed the writhing black design on I'ilkoun-de's forehead, wondering how it came to be there.

Sensing no forthcoming challenge from Tugrik, I'ilkoun-de sat back and resumed an air of indifference. "Let them hate, so long as they fear," he hissed. "But the thing that drives Thekkur, his ultimate goal, is for me to die by his hand."

The slave, his brother, stirred at this and looked up, his eyes boring into Tugrik's own. He could not turn away from Thekkur's face. It was now a map of cruelty, drawn by I'ilkoun-de and deeply engraved by the scars of countless torturous days. The youthful brother he knew was gone forever. Slowly rising to his feet, Tugrik felt the burden of an oath long unfulfilled pressing on his shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother leave the room with an overseer following behind.

"Have I ruined your appetite, warrior?" asked I'ilkoun-de. It was a cruel barb and it stung.

"No, I am merely retiring and the night, as you say, is very long," said Tugrik as he left the hall. Another servant waited for him in the corridor. As he made his way down the passageway, Tugrik heard his enemy laugh.


	4. Part the Fourth

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own the Predator franchise. _

_Thank you to all who have read this little tale!_**

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**Shadows on the Wall**

In the hall of his enemy, Tugrik could feel his rage slowly burning its way through his mind. He asked the accompanying servant about Thekkur's whereabouts, but he received a flurry of hand signals instead; signs he could not understand. It was then that he noticed the badly healed scar on the slave's throat, in the area of the vocal chords, chords that were probably long gone by now; I'ilkoun-de must like his slaves silent and obedient.

Tugrik headed for the main entrance, ignoring the frantic slave who followed closely behind him. As he neared the doors, the slave tried once again to lead him away. Tugrik raised his arm to backhand the servant, but he lowered his arm when he noticed the _eta_ gesturing towards the corridor that led to the dining hall. Marching shadows appeared along the sides, no doubt preceding the arrival of I'ilkoun-de and his overseers. Quickly opening the main door, the slave ushered Tugrik outside and pointed to the slaves' quarters. Hurrying across the empty grounds, Tugrik glanced back to check on the _eta_. He could see the yautja scrambling towards the foundry.

Having escaped unnoticed from the main hall, Tugrik was in a quandary. He had not been aware of the danger I'ilkoun-de posed, so he was unprepared; his weapons were still in his room. Now, when he needed them the most, he was weaponless. He made it to the slaves' quarters, staying in the shadows as he sidled towards the entrance. Luckily, there were no overseers guarding the entrance. Inside, the vestibule was empty of guards and servants. A lone torch illuminated the room and the shadows leaped, hiding the dirt and grime that covered the pale earthen walls. Tugrik crept to the door that led to the slaves' cells. Looking through the small barred window, he spied an open cell not too far down the corridor. Cautiously opening the door, he checked once more for any hidden dangers. Afterwards, he made his way silently down the passage. Tugrik heard sibilant whispers and clicks of a conversation between two individuals as he neared. When he arrived at the doorway, only Thekkur greeted him. His brother stared at him for a moment, and then he gestured for Tugrik to come in.

Shadows danced in the room and the air was close and very warm. There was a hint of musk in the air, female musk, or the ghost of a scent. Tugrik sat down, ready to speak to his brother. He had so many questions to ask and so many things to say to him. He looked around instead and noticed something on a wooden table in one corner. It was his mask, _ki'cti-pa_, and spear! Even the computer unit with the self-destruct was there, but he remembered leaving it behind on his ship. He looked wonderingly at his brother.

Thekkur shook his head, "You will have to thank the slaves. They told me you would need these soon. I'ilkoun-de does not know you are here, but one should never underestimate him, especially now. Most of the slaves are silent and will not reveal your location; they may fear him, but they respect and follow only one." The slaves, silent witnesses to I'ilkoun-de's terror; how long have they been enslaved? They hid in the shadows, watching their master and waiting, hoping I'ilkoun-de would ignore them. Though he found it unsettling to not hear the clicks and see the slight play of tusks over his mutilated features, Tugrik could make sense of his brother's slightly garbled words.

"There was a female I spoke to earlier. Is she the one the slaves respect and follow?" asked Tugrik.

"Ghir'es'un's clan was once the stakeholders of this planet," said Thekkur. "It was before the arrival of I'ilkoun-de." There was a grim set to Thekkur's features as he recited Ghir'es'un's tale. "She is the lone captive, the last descendant of a clan now gone. The males of her clan, the unfortunate ones that were here, all died at the hands of I'ilkoun-de; he had cunningly challenged them one after the other over a span of time. When there were no more males to challenge, I'ilkoun-de began his assault. His overseers overwhelmed and executed the older females and their children, especially the ones old enough to resist. They did not spare any of the female children. The very young and the very old were enslaved. Ghir'es'un was the only one left of the female line. I'ilkoun-de never revealed the reasons he spared her. He left her alone, I think, as an example of the power he has over everything. She tried to fight him once, but his overseers were too many and I'ilkoun-de has the strength of madness and of something else."

"He will be punished by Paya for his crimes," softly murmured Tugrik as he realized the enormity of I'ilkoun-de's crimes. Looking at his brother, he was struck by how old and defeated he looked as he stood in the flickering light. Thekkur was a shadow of his former self. There was nothing left of the young hunter he remembered. Whatever prison I'ilkoun-de made for his brother, it had completely obliterated what was left of hope. Taking up his spearand a small knife from his belt, Tugrik handed both to Thekkur.

"At least we will fight our enemy together," said Tugrik as he hefted his _ki'cti-pa_.

"We will have to face the overseers before I'ilkoun-de, and even then we may not be able to overcome them," Thekkur said as he looked at the knife that was given to him.

"Will Ghir'es'un be able to help us?" asked Tugrik. He wondered about the other voice he heard in the room and the trace of a familiar scent. How Ghir'es'un left the room without Tugrik noticing was something he wanted to ask his brother. "Before I arrived, I thought I heard more than one voice in this room."

There was a knowing look in Thekkur's eyes as he spoke. "Ghir'es'un speaks to me often and when I was imprisoned here, she had the _etas_ help me in recovering from the wounds I received from I'ilkoun-de during our battle.

"She is free to wander the complex and knows the secret passages, but I do not know if she will be able to help us. She escaped and I do not know where she could be. I'ilkoun-de had placed her under guard shortly after speaking with you. He was going to question her about you; he will be furious when he finds her gone."

"We can use these passages, perhaps make it to my ship so we could arm ourselves better," stated Tugrik.

"I'ilkoun-de would have all the approaches watched by now and your ship carefully guarded," replied Thekkur.

"Surely he doesn't have that many overseers. I have only seen several at one time, where could the rest be?" said Tugrik.

"Some of the slaves are not as loyal and they fear I'ilkoun-de more than Ghir'es'un. They will be watching. As for the overseers, you were right about the number of them I'ilkoun-de has at his command. I made sure of that; he never told you truthfully the number of his overseers I have killed..." Thekkur stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening intently to some distant sound.

"What is it?" asked Tugrik, as he looked around, trying to catch whatever sound it was that occupied his brother's attention.

"I hear the roar of a furious master. Quick, we must hurry!" Thekkur rushed to a shadowy corner of his cell and pushed on a slightly protruding rock. With a sigh, a hidden door slid open and the stale, earthy air of soil and buried rocks wafted from the doorway. Thekkur took down a torch and lit the entry.

Tugrik paused and stared down at the steps dug into the compact dirt; they spiraled steeply down to an inky blackness. '_Has it come down to this; fleeing into the bowels of the planet, away from our enemy?'_ thought Tugrik. He started to climb down while his brother closed the hidden door behind them. The two did not speak as they made their way down the spiral steps. The dim light of their torch guttered in the weak breeze that blew from the depths, bringing with it the cloyingly sweet smell of decay and a slightly familiar metallic tang that grew stronger as they made their way deeper into the darkness. Soon, they heard a low throbbing sound all around them, and the walls of the stairwell changed from hard packed dirt to a highly lustrous black stone flecked with opalescent granules that gleamed in the torchlight.

Running his hand along the surface of the wall, Tugrik felt the consistent pattern of carvings. It was a large bas-relief. Carved in a winding spiral that lined the walls, it told an ancient, but forgotten story; it must have been a tale known only to Ghir'es'un's ill-fated clan. He ran a talon along the winding curves of one relief, and as his eyes adjusted to the flickering light and shadows that shifted on the stone surface, the image of a rampaging _kainde amedha_ queen emerged. A writhing warrior was pinned beneath her colossal form. The forsaken figure was lost amidst the shredding claws and crystalline fangs of the maddened hive mother. It was a realistic, albeit grotesque scene. The ancient artisan must have been an eyewitness to the hunt.

The passage of countless years obliterated some parts of the relief, but certain intricately carved sections still harbored menace. Waves of hard meat eternally seethed while waiting for approaching hunters, and plain, but highly polished panels gave the illusion of black doorways filled with the lurking unknown. Tugrik refrained from touching these panels, which slightly annoyed him, but there was the lingering thought that if he were to place his hand on the shiny surface, it would immediately disappear in the darkness and his whole body would follow.

There was a sudden growling shout high above the fleeing brothers and light blossomed at the top of the stairs as I'ilkoun-de's overseers entered. A thrown torch tumbled down the center of the shaft, falling past Thekkur and Tugrik. Roars echoed, filling the stairwell with the sounds of challenge and fury. Luckily for the escaping pair, they did not have far to go, and as they heard the sounds of pursuit at the top of the staircase, the stairs ended and level ground met their feet as their torch lit a path for them. The breeze grew stronger as they ran through the large passage. The throbbing sound grew louder. They could now feel it, vibrating deep within their bodies. The passage gradually lightened and grew wider. The light became brighter and suddenly they were there; they had made it to the cavern that housed the main generator. The smell of decay was stronger here. Tugrik now saw the source of the stench. The great lights that hung from the roof of the cavern also illuminated a graveyard. Here and there were the decomposing bodies of countless yautja. Some looked to be very old, while others were still fresh.

"What is this?" asked Tugrik as he grimaced with disgust at the bodies sprawled all over the cavern floor. They looked like sacrifices to some dark god that resided in the generator.

"They are the remains of Ghir'es'un's clan and the _etas_ that have died recently. I'ilkoun-de ordered the slaves to carry the dead to this place, leaving them to rot. They now feed the grave worms," answered Thekkur.

Looking down on the fresh carcasses, Tugrik noticed something. "Some of them have pieces of their flesh missing from their bodies, as if they were gnawed off by something larger and there are sections here that looked carved from the bone."

"So it is true then," Thekkur whispered enigmatically. He then looked at Tugrik with haunted eyes.

A harsh clattering sound from the stairwell reminded the two that they were still in danger. They rushed off in the direction of the cavern where the breeze steadily grew stronger and fresher, yet untainted by the scent of dead flesh.


End file.
